


Director Chiba and the Soft Apocalypse

by Dandybear



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: All The Protagonists Are Functionally Riddled With Zombie Viruses, Bisexual Ada Wong, Bisexual Carlos Olivera, Bisexual Chris Redfield, Bisexual Jill Valentine, Capcom Please Give Us Character Driven Movies, F/M, Karaoke, Mentioned Aeon - Freeform, Past Jill/Carlos/Chris, Past and Present Valenfield, Post-RE5 Jill Valentine, Remember When Capcom Said Jill Was Japanese-American and Then Never Modelled It, The Only Straight RE Protagonist is Ethan, What Is In-Character to a Resident Evil Protagonist?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28664565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: Jill Valentine kept the headstone and dropped the identity. She's reinvented herself as Director Valerie Chiba of the BSAA Tokyo Branch. It's here that she tries to live a normal office life. Not that the ghosts from her past will let her.Jill leans forward on her elbows, “Making a vaccine. It’s not just an injection and twelve hour waiting period. I get infected, cycle through the symptoms, and recover. Fucking sucks.”“I don’t have your immune system, but I do know what it feels like to grow back a lung while being chased to a helicopter by a Hunter Beta, so I didn’t assume you were having a good time.”“So, if I do this, you need to stick around with me.”Ada blinks, “Is that all?”“Yup,” Jill pops her ‘p’.“Deal.”
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Jill Valentine, Jill Valentine & Ada Wong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Director Chiba and the Soft Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,
> 
> This was actually written in Spring 2020 right around the time I was marinading in Jill feelings from RE3make. Ofc, now I'm posting it in time for No One To Care. 
> 
> I've had a hyperfixation on Jill for like two decades now. She's so interesting and so underused (strangling hand motion) WOULD SURE LOVE TO SEE HER IN A GAME SET AFTER RE5. So, Capcom says she took a desk job. This is a the desk job.
> 
> I have never been to Tokyo, so I probably got some stuff wrong. My b.

The fog of a mix of shoyu broth, chili paste, and char siu pork clings to her skin in a greasy precipitation. Her shoulders move in time with the disco-pop coming from the mounted plasma in the corner. A successful conference followed by a good ramen sweat is the best her days get. No, she doesn’t have any company. Doesn’t need any. The polite avoidance of the staff here, and the freedom to expose her tattoos is good enough. She knows the owner. He runs this shop and the pachinko arcade next to it. It’s something she like about the change of locale. Just because it’s a yakuza front, doesn’t mean the boys in the back aren’t proud of their recipes.

Which is why, despite the chili oil making her nose run and the ocean saltiness flooding her senses, she smells the approach of expensive perfume and gun oil. Heels click on the tile of the floor.

The woman sits to her left. Red silk bomber jacket, black jeans, heart shaped face. She speaks Japanese with a California accent masquerading as something closer to Taiwanese. She orders chicken hearts, squid, and a pint of beer.

Ada Wong. Known aliases: Xi Huang, Jessica Lee, Mei Chang. Active since 1996. Affiliation: Umbrella, Tricell, “The Organization”. Threat level: Varying. 

“Should I be worried?” Jill says before her companion can open her mouth.

“It’s touch and go for now, but with current set precautions the situation shouldn’t escalate higher than a three.”

She accepts the offered oshibori and otoshi with a smile. The takowasa here is amazing, and Jill enjoys the delighted reaction it gets from her companion. 

He own big spoon brings her a mouthful of broth, “Humour me then. What’s Raccoon City on this scale?”

“About a six. Maybe seven.”

Jill rolls her lips and grabs her phone, filling out an emergency alert email and leaving it in her drafts.

“So, what brings you to Tokyo?”

“Haven’t been here since 2001. Thought I’d take in the sights,” Ada sighs.

“And I’m the first person you look up? I’m touched.” Jill sips her beer, keeping an eye on the baseball game. She can feel the tension in the air crackling around the other woman. Ada always overcompensates a cool voice for her trapped animal energy.

Ada’s reading the name on her badge, “Well,  _ Director Chiba _ , I have a new candy I thought you’d like to try.”

Jill snorts, “Candy? Honey, you sound like a drug dealer,” but she does rotate her body to see the case Ada’s slid across the counter to her.

It makes this look even more like a drug transaction. The izakaya chefs are experts of keeping their heads down, so it goes unremarked upon.

“What a generous gift. You shouldn’t have,” Jill says. 

Ada nips her upper lip and sighs, “I wouldn’t ask if I had other options. How quickly can you synthesize a vaccine?”

Jill snorts into her drink, “‘Synthesize a vaccine’ sounds so clinical. How quickly can I absorb it, you mean? Usually takes about twelve hours.”

Ada takes a deep breath, “I have fourteen to get a sample to my employer.”

“Ah, yes, your mysterious employer who is in no way a shell organization for--” Ada covers Jill’s mouth.

“If we do this then you won’t have to send that email.”

Jill looks Ada in the eye. She’s not quite as credulous as Leon, and she’s used to false promises from mercenaries. Ada though? For all the bravado and double-talk, there’s a wear and tear to her guarded look. She’s just as tired of this as Jill. The kind of tired that makes you sloppy. But, Ada’s always been sloppy--or maybe intentionally so, like drunken fist. A good spy wouldn’t be on the Terrasave speed dial.

Satisfied with the squirming, Jill turns back to the baseball game and her broth.

“Alright, well, better the devil you know. I still have one condition.”

Ada’s food and beer arrive, she flashes a grateful smile before taking a sip of beer, “Name your terms.”

Jill leans forward on her elbows, “Making a vaccine. It’s not just an injection and twelve hour waiting period. I get infected, cycle through the symptoms, and recover. Fucking sucks.”

“I don’t have your immune system, but I do know what it feels like to grow back a lung while being chased to a helicopter by a Hunter Beta, so I didn’t assume you were having a good time.”

“So, if I do this, you need to stick around with me.”

Ada blinks, “Is that all?”

“Yup,” Jill pops her ‘p’.

“Deal.”

Jill raises her bottle to toast, Ada meets it. She digs into her chicken hearts afterwards, sharp teeth clicking against the metal of the skewer.

After polishing off her beer, Jill takes the packet and heads to the restroom.

Once upon a time, she was checking her skin and eyes in the mirror. Obsessively checking for patches of grey and black, or for milky eyes.

A few lives ago, she came to terms in a different mirror after having grown back her charred flesh and eyes to smooth pink skin and functional organs. Flour, matches, Wesker, Hunters--Russia. She locked Chris in a freezer while taking the brunt of the explosion. Not the first time she’d died, but the first heroic sacrifice. The first test of how far she could come back from.

Pretty far, it turns out. Though Wesker’s tests were more thorough. Removing every organ and watching her writhe as they grew back.

Needles remind her of him. She unwraps it. Nasty little thing in a purple helix. For a moment she sees a similar vial crushed beneath Nikolai’s boot. All the different vials over the years, all the different viruses. She picks a spot on her shoulder and rolls up her sleeve. An exhale as it penetrates the flesh. Innocuous little inoculation. Poison rushes from the tip into her veins, attacking and regenerating cells alike.

Jill holds some toilet paper against the spot and re-wraps the vial, returning it to its case. While she’s in the bathroom, she might as well pee.

“So, what do you want to do for twelve hours?” she asks on return.

Ada chuckles into her beer, “I’m gonna have to pass on sex if that’s what you’re implying.”

Jill laughs, “Honey, that’s a sticky trap I’m putting my hands nowhere near.”

“Fine. Just means I don’t have to go hunting for a muscle suit and some Old Spice.”

Jill flips her off.

“Low blow?”

Jill chews the inside of her cheek, the ring hanging with her dog tags feels like an iron ball rolling against her collar bone at moments like this. She peels the label of her beer, considering the question wrapped up in Ada’s bite.

“When was the last time you sang karaoke?” Jill asks.

Ada blows out a breath, “Hm. 2008? Claire was involved.”

“She would be,” Jill smiles.

“You miss her.”

“She’s a lot to miss.”

“Guess meathead took a lot in the divorce,” Ada says not unkindly.

“Widowing.”

“What?”

“Marriage vows. It’s  _ ‘til death do we part _ . It wasn’t a divorce. He’s still technically my widower.”

“Right, because a dead woman can’t be put on trial for crimes against humanity.”

Jill rolls her lips and nods, sighing through her nose.

Ada laughs softly, “They really gave you a new name, a transfer, and a haircut and called it a day, huh?”

“I chose the haircut, and the colour. Do you like it? Dye’s called Vanta No. 2.”

“Might pick up a bottle actually. The virus keeps the face clear of wrinkles, but Leon’s been kindly pointing out my fresh collection of greys.”

Jill props her face on her hand, “I think your age looks good on you.”

“You won’t feel the same way when you get to be my age,” Ada drains her beer and orders a second.

“You have, like, thirteen months on me.”

“And I have earned every single one.”

Ada leans back, motioning to the waitress, “Actually, if I’m going to be singing karaoke, I need to be drunker. Do you do whiskey?”

Jill’s lip curls. Whiskey. It smells like despair on a grieving man’s lips and clothes. Just the sweet woodiness of it makes her nauseous.

“I’ll pass.”

“Sake it is,” Ada adjusts the order.

They split the bottle, polishing it off in under an hour.

“How old are these girls?” Ada gestures to the TV.

“Somewhere between sixteen and twenty-five,” Jill says.

Ada squints, “Is what they’re doing supposed to be sexy?”

“I assume so, as they look like baby prostitutes,” Jill says, “But if any of them has sex then they’re put in the stocks and have tomatoes thrown at them.”

Ada appears to be going through the stages of grief, “I assume they’re disposed of once they age out.”

“If they haven’t managed to hop careers by then, then yeah,” Jill’s enjoying a nice buzz, slinging her arm around the back of Ada’s stool.

“Do you wanna sing one of their songs at karaoke?” Ada suggests.

“Gotta admit, my knowledge of J-Pop is lacking. I’ve been listening mostly to instrumental stuff since I got here. I do a wicked  _ Livin’ On a Prayer  _ though.”

“Sounds good. Let me get the tab,” Ada says.

“Pfft, nah. What else am I gonna do with my big director salary? I can only buy my nieces and nephews so many toys.”

“According to your 1998 file, and your will, you’re an only child,” Ada says, glancing at her phone.

“I am. They’re my cousin’s kids. Calling small children my cousins feels weird. ‘sides, Ayano has always kinda been like a sister to me.”

“So you have family here at least?”

“Family, good job, all the gangster dick I need. It’s not a bad life.”

The alcohol hits different when standing--walking even, towards the karaoke place. The night air is refreshing after the ramen steam bath. Ada links their arms, “How are you feeling?”

“Like the waitress totally thought I was doing coke instead of … what virus is this?”

“It’s patent pending so I’ve been calling it the P-Virus.”

“Haha, pee virus. Shit, it could be the PP-Virus.”

“Okay, it needs a new name.”

“U-Virus for ‘untitled’?”

“Sounds like an insult. You virus.”

“You know, the Progenitor Virus could be the P-Virus.”

“The anal retentive person in me wishes that we could just go in alphabetical order so I can keep track,” Ada sighs.

They wave their thanks to the staff. Jill lights a cigarette, enjoying the light breeze and the glow of Tokyo’s streets, even in a back alley like this. This city is old and safe in a way Raccoon never was. Raccoon City was like a game of Mouse Trap built by psychopaths. It was a city planned by MC Escher and Hieronymus Bosch. Every piece of architecture felt designed to cage in human suffering. 

In Tokyo, a stall is just a stall. A street is flush pavement and lights. The seediness is all contained into little boxes like capsule hotels. 

"Do you think it'll be booked on a Friday night?" Ada asks as they pause at the entrance. 

Hiroshi is outside, smoking a cigarette. Jill lets her eyes linger on his cleavage a moment before leaning on the door. 

"I know the owner," she says. 

Ada's eyebrows climb, "Does that need any unpacking?"

Jill shrugs, "I like a man with a little edge and a hard body. And, capable of being discrete."

Ada chuckles appreciatively as if she hasn't been in an emotionally monogamous relationship for the better part of two decades. 

The room they get feels both too big and too small. Two person karaoke is kind of like an underpopulated orgy. Not enough people to get lost in the crowd, but enough to feel judged for messing up.

“I need to be drunker for this,” Jill says, ordering from the menu.

“Let’s start with something easy,” Ada says, punching in a code.

The code turns out to be  _ Bohemian Rhapsody-- _ and it’s been years and Queen music shouldn’t feel like a punch to the gut, but it does. Like every other injury, Jill powers through it, shouting each lyric into the mic (and Ada’s face). They get a rousing 67%. 

Ada follows up with some Cindy Lauper while Jill gets the bottle of sake.

The songs they choose get sillier and looser with each drink.  _ Naughty Girl _ ,  _ Call Me Maybe, Let It Go _ \--to name a few.

After the third shared bottle, Jill feels the room spin. She totters off to the bathroom, switching sandals at the door and falling against the bowl.

It’s the flushing of the toilet that brings her back to consciousness. There’s a cool hand against her neck, and another rubbing her back.

“We should sanitize this room,” Ada says.

“‘M usually not contagious. Otherwise there’d be a lot more outbreaks,” she groans, “Fuck, this one’s a doozy.”

“Yeah, you just went into cardiac arrest.”

“But I got better,” Jill sings.

“It looks like there’s some swelling,” Ada inspects her.

“Yeah, feels like the blood is coagulating. You sure this isn’t some kind of venom?” Jill tries to stand and slumps back down.

“It attacks the blood vessels, I’m going to grab you a mask.”

“Hnn, good idea.”

She’s sweat through her shirt. It’s foul smelling and greasy, like she’s burning her own fat deposits. Fuck, she hopes not. It took over a year to get back to a healthy weight after Kijuju.

Her head lolls and she sees feet in the hallway. Ada sweeps her up and hauls her past some concerned teenagers, “Too much sake,” she says.

“Got any more Cindy Lauper in you?” Ada asks.

Jill groans, willing the room to keep still, “Me and Chris used to always sing  _ When Doves Cry _ .”

“Oh yeah?” Jill’s being hauled up into a fireman carry, “I’m gonna take you home.”

“Nooo, we were having a girls’ night!”

“We can do the forties version and stay indoors and do face masks.”

“Ooof, how are you so fuckin’ tall?” Jill stares at the distance between her spot on Ada’s shoulder and the floor.

“Father was a basketball player,” Ada says.

“Bullshit.”

“No, really, he played center for the Golden State Warriors.”

Jill fades in and out. At one point she hears a bicycle bell. She’s definitely guilty of crooning Prince. Then she comes to in a taxi.

“I didn’t give you my address,” Jill moans, resting her forehead against the glass.

“I can actually do the information gathering part of my job.”

Then they’re in the elevator of her apartment.

“How did we teleport here?” Jill asks.

Ada presses a hand to her forehead, “Your fever’s breaking, good. I was worried I’d have to run you a bath.”

Jill gags and makes a face, “Do not. Don’t wanna become zombie soup.”

“Is there a story there?”

Ding.

“Couple-a bad experiences,” she unlocks her apartment.

“Sit down, I have some herb capsules.”

Jill flops against her stiff sofa with a grunt. She peels the mask off her ears, wincing when some skin goes with it.

“I hope you tipped the driver.”

“It’s being taken care of. A biohazard sweep has been sent to the karaoke bar and ramen restaurant.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust your employers to do a good job.”

“Which is why I sent for your employees instead.”

Jill gropes around for her phone, finding it in Ada’s hand.

“Fuck.”

“You’re bad at this.”

“My job is to eradicate biohazards and clean up afterwards.”

“Not a fan of virus prevention? But those pamphlets gave you a word balloon saying that ‘Outbreaks start and stop with you!’.”

“Who the fuck am I? Smokey the Bear? TerraSave can suck my dick.”

That gets a laugh.

“Look, the day they stop rich pricks from causing these attacks is the day they turn their eyes onto us.”

“We who fight monsters….”

“Exactly. I look forward to the day, but I don’t look forward to the part when they round us up as immortal test subjects or just … biohazards to be cleaned up.”

Ada checks Jill’s wrist, “Your pulse is weak.”

“Yeah, I might fade out again.”

“I’m gonna get you some water and some aspirin.”

“Cool.” Jill flops against the pillows, letting her vision blur, feeling her arteries flex and stretch, trying to push thick, pudding blood through to her heart and brain.

It’s not her first stroke, but it’s still like a 4/10 on the unpleasant death scale. Being conscious of it makes the situation worse. 

The TV’s on when she comes to. Japanese 24 hour news cycle.

“Drink this,” Ada says.

Jill does with little protest.

“Chew the aspirin, it’s hopefully gonna thin your blood back out.”

Jill nods, “‘s cold.”

“I’ll get you a blanket. What’s your favourite movie?”

“ _ The Hunt for The Wilderpeople _ ,” Jill slurs, “‘s on Netflix.”

She fades in and out of consciousness for it, awakening some three hours later to find Ada sniffling through Titanic.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks.

“'Time is it?”

“About 4. You’ve got another three hours.”

Jill snuffles and nods, “Feel free to use the shower, ‘n fridge while you’re here.”

“You know adults are supposed to have more than sandwich ingredients and takeout in their fridge,” Ada says.

“You know spies aren’t supposed to be judge-y.”

With that, she rolls over, and falls back asleep.

Jill awakens at 9:30 to a note and a plate of breakfast.

_ Apologies Director Chiba, _

_ Had a meeting with my employers for 8.  _

_ Thanks for the date. _

_ Enjoy your breakfast (home made) _

_ XOXO Ada _

The spiteful part of her wants to ignore the breakfast and the insult. The part of her that needs the replenishment of calories to rebuild her body, and the part of her that really loves grilled cod roe and rolled omelette is delighted.


End file.
